Boxwood and Rosewood
by nikkilittle
Summary: A journalist finds a very rare and valuable chess set at an abandoned homeless site. And makes the mistake of taking it home.
1. Chapter 1

Boxwood and Rosewood

by Nikki Little

Chapter 1: "The One I Didn't Publish"

In all my years as a journalist, there is only one story that I didn't submit to my editors for publication. When you hear my story, you will surely agree that no newspaper would have published this one – both for its own benefit and mine as well. It all started when two gentlemen whom I had never seen before showed up at the town's tiny chess club on a Saturday night.

It was late spring in 1988 – the tail end of the Reagan era. A time before cell phones, personal computers, laptop computers, and tablets. It was a time when video games were found in arcades. The two gentlemen chuckled when they saw me sitting at a table waiting for an opponent. Everyone else was already engaged in a game when I had entered. I remember noting how unusual it was that they carried no chess equipment with them. No chessboard. No chess pieces. No chess clock. Empty hands.

They introduced themselves as "Mr. Boxwood" and "Mr. Rosewood." I couldn't help laughing at that, but I quickly stopped laughing when "Mr. Boxwood" started a game against me. It was clear that he was a skilled chessplayer.

No one else in the club seemed curious enough about the two newcomers to wander over. They glanced over and then continued their games. I guess we weren't really a very sociable bunch.

We were in an open area of the second floor of the town's public library where there was a collection of tables and chairs. The library closed at midnight. My apartment was within walking distance and the streets of this small town were still fairly safe late at night. You could walk from one end of town to the other in twenty minutes if you didn't stop along the way.

End of Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: "After Hours"

When the library personnel chased all us chessplayers out at midnight – we were always the last to leave – "Mr. Boxwood" and "Mr. Rosewood" wanted me to visit their home. I politely declined saying that I had just met them and that a lady does not wander off with strange men in the middle of the night. I suggested next week when perhaps I could gain an escort with some of the other gentlemen in the chess club. I knew all of them well. A lone lady in a chess club tends to be very popular. Especially if she can play chess well. I was the second best player in the club. Only the founder was a better player than me.

The next week on a Saturday night, I wandered in at my usual time of 8:30, and found "Mr. Boxwood" and "Mr. Rosewood" waiting for me. Still no chess equipment of their own. The club founder was sitting with them and chatting with them. Other players in the club glanced over at them occasionally, but went right back to their games. It is normal for players in chess clubs to pair up with players of equal or near-equal strength. The club president and I were the only members above the 1700 rating which is usually considered the border between "average" club players and "strong" club players. So the other players in the club usually ignored us.

The club founder and I played blitz games with our two guests until midnight and were both impressed at the strength of these two players. Both were definitely "Class A" strength, the same as me. The chess club's founder was a rated expert and was the town champion. Every time there was a series of matches for the town championship, it always came down to the club founder and me, and he always won. Not easily, but he always won.

When midnight came, and the library personnel pitched all us chessplayers out, the club founder agreed to tag along to visit the home of our two guests. It wasn't far. Just a few blocks from the library to the edge of town. Right near the abandoned railroad station. That should have tipped me off that something was strange. There were no homes near the abandoned station. Just a few bars and fast-food restaurants.

The club president and I trudged along with our two curiously-named guests. Had I mentioned that boxwood and rosewood were common woods used for chess pieces? Boxwood was almost always used for the white pieces, and rosewood was a common choice for the black pieces.

End of Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: "The Tunnel"

The club president, I, and our two guests walked the dimly-lit street down to the abandoned railroad station. We passed the bikers' bars which were still open and crowded and walked past the fast-food restaurants which were now all closed save for the Waffle House which was open 24 hours a day. We saw a few customers in the Waffle House as we walked by the brightly lit interior of the restaurant. One lone cook and one lone waitress were on duty. I noticed a cop sitting at one of the tables drinking coffee. His plate was pushed aside.

Our two guests led us past the abandoned railroad station with all the weeds overgrowing everything. Broken glass had allowed the elements to enter the abandoned building. The glass that was still intact was dirty and opaque. Places where broken glass allowed us to see in revealed two homeless people wrapped in blankets on the filthy floor with backpacks next to them and bottles of water. A mouse scurried by the front entrance on the battered and crumbled concrete. I cringed at the sight of two homeless people. I knew we had some in town, but they did an excellent job of keeping out of sight. We trudged on past the railroad station and I started to wonder just where we were heading. An underground train tunnel loomed ahead. It was underneath a major highway just outside of town.

"Just where are you guys leading us?" demanded to know the chess club president. He was getting suspicious the same as I had the previous week.

"To our home," said "Mr. Boxwood."

"I'm not going any further without an additional escort. And I know just where to find one." The club president turned his heels and walked back to the Waffle House. I guessed why he was going there. He soon returned with the town's night-duty cop who seemed tickled to have something to do besides drive around in a circle, return to the Waffle House for more coffee, drive around in a circle, and then return to the Waffle House for more coffee again and again all night long.

The night cop joined us and off we trudged with our two guest chess players leading the way. Neither seemed disturbed at a cop joining our group, so I did relax a little. The underground train tunnel loomed ahead once again. Right at that moment I realized that our two guest chess players were homeless. They didn't look homeless. Somehow they seemed reasonably clean. We soon discovered how they stayed clean. We stopped a moment at the entrance to the tunnel.

It had been decades since any rail line used the tunnel, so it was perfectly safe to enter. There were no functioning lights inside, but light from street lights above the tunnel filtered in through ventilation shafts. Tall vegetation grew along side the tracks. Litter covered the gravel area of the tracks themselves. No rats in view. The eyes of feral cats in the tunnel glowed as we walked. Our two guests stopped when we heard running water and pointed to a broken pipe at the side of the tunnel spilling water into a lush patch of green vegetation. I started to think about ticks.

"Our shower," said "Mr. Boxwood."

"Also our drinking water," said "Mr. Rosewood."

A few more steps and we reached a clearing in the vegetation. Gravel covered the ground and we saw what looked like two make-shift beds, some rickety wooden shelves with some empty jars and rusted cans, and several tables. On one of the tables sat undisturbed quite filthy wood chess pieces on a very simple wood chessboard.

As the chess club president, cop, and I looked over the chess pieces without touching any of them, we both sensed at pretty much the same time that our chess-playing guests had disappeared. Completely vanished into the air. The cop took out his flashlight and looked for any hidden entrances or exits and found none. We looked around what was once someone's home and realized that no one had been here in years.

End of Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: "Boxwood and Rosewood"

"Guys, anyone here thinking we just saw a pair of ghosts?" asked the cop.

The chess club president and I looked at each other and kept our mouths shut. We kept looking around at the surroundings. Finally I spoke up and addressed the cop.

"Would you have any objection if I took the chess pieces and board?"

"Why would you want those filthy pieces?" asked the chess club president.

"Have you taken a really good look at the chess pieces?" I asked. "The pieces are a Pinney Liberty chess set. Made in America. They may be filthy, but they're a collector's item."

The chess club president looked closely at the chess pieces. "I do believe that the black pieces are rosewood," he said. "Aren't Pinney sets in boxwood and rosewood supposed to be incredibly rare?"

"I'd have to investigate that," I said.

"Look you two geeks, I need to make another round of the town, so let me escort you out of here so I can head back to my vehicle."

"Do you have any objection if I take the chess pieces and board?" I asked the cop.

"Nobody's lived here in years," said the cop. "You found them. You take them." The cop headed toward the entrance.

I looked at the chess club president. "You have anything in your car to hold the chess pieces?"

"Plastic shopping bags," he responded. "You want to come back for the chess pieces?"

"Yup. The chess board, too. You willing to come back with me?"

"Okay," he sighed. "Our police escort is gone, though. I think we should be okay."

The chess club president and I picked up some plastic shopping bags from the trunk of his car and returned to the abandoned railroad tunnel to retrieve the chess pieces and chessboard. I wrapped my hands in plastic bags as I didn't want to touch the filthy pieces as I shoveled them into five plastic shopping bags nestled inside each other. I wanted to make sure no pieces fell out the tiny hole in the bottoms of the shopping bags. The chess club president carried the filthy chessboard for me.

When I got home, I put some newspapers on a coffee table, placed the dirty chessboard on top of the newspapers, and set up my filthy treasures. I decided that I needed to buy some disposable rubber gloves and a can of beeswax furniture polish.

Liberty chess sets were normally lacquered, but the set I had in front of me showed no trace of lacquer at all, and seemed to be a rare waxed set instead. I was astounded when an expert in chess equipment informed me that my waxed Pinney boxwood and rosewood Liberty set was unique with no other known examples. In other words, it was priceless.

"It is so valuable that it belongs in a museum," he opined. I was inclined to agree. But what museum would take a chess set?

End of Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: "Your Move"

I placed several sheets thickness of newspaper, a can of beeswax furniture polish, and a pair of disposable rubber gloves on my dining room table. I dumped out my filthy treasure, donned the rubber gloves, and began wiping and then buffing the 32 nasty pieces. I did the same with the chessboard. It took several repeat waxings to make the pieces and chessboard presentable, but when I had finished, I had a set worthy of display.

With no television in my living room - I had a tiny one in my bedroom - I bought a small table and two chairs and placed it in the living room near a window. I set up my chessboard and pieces. Sunlight filtering through the trees on the front lawn of my apartment building made for a cozy nook in my small living room in my second-floor flat.

It dawned on me that I had room for a small bookcase along the wall next to the table and chairs. I couldn't afford a "good" bookcase that you bought in a furniture store, but I could afford a ready-to-assemble kit of the kind that college kids bought for their dorm rooms. After the cost of the table and chairs, I'd have to save for awhile.

One day after coming home from work, I noticed that my chess set display on the table was no longer in its starting position. Someone had pushed the White King's Pawn two squares. I tried to think of who might have been in the apartment. The property manager doing an inspection? Not likely. She only did inspections when somebody was in the apartment. The maintenance guy? I hadn't turned in any maintenance requests. I couldn't think of who might have moved the pawn. I pushed Black's Queen's Pawn forward two squares and then went into the kitchen to make dinner. When I went to bed that night, only one move for White and Black each was on the board.

When I awoke in the morning, I found that White had played Pawn takes Pawn. I played Queen takes Pawn entering my favorite Center Counter Defense. Almost no one played it back in the 1980s. It was murderous against the average club player. I won many a game against a class C player in thirty moves or so with it. Against a strong player such as the club president, it could be quite precarious, but I knew the lines backwards and forwards and was confident of my ability to survive any opening surprises.

When I returned home from work, White had moved out his Queen's Knight attacking my Queen. The standard move. I moved my Queen to the side of the board preparing a pin against the Queen's Knight. Also the standard move.

"Mr. Boxwood, I presume."

End of Chapter 5


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: "The Library"

If you were a woman, would you want two chess-playing male ghosts wandering around your tiny apartment? Especially two chess-playing male ghosts who were apparently invisible? Not a comforting thought. Especially when I was getting dressed. Well, it's true that I didn't really have a lot to see. Skinny, flat-chested freckle-faces are not exactly at the top of most men's lists of women they'd most like to see naked. Still, I was uncomfortable. The Boxwood and Rosewood Pinney Liberty Chess Set had to go. But what museum would take a chess set?

A research librarian at the tiny town library found the answer for me. Remember that this was 1988 before the internet. Research was not so easy back then. At the Cleveland Public Library in Ohio was a special area known as the "John G. White Chess and Checkers Collections." The librarian gave me the mailing address and telephone number of the special collection and wished me luck.

I took some photographs of my Pinney Liberty Set and chessboard and enclosed them in a letter offering the set to the special collection. I emphasized that this set was a rare Pinney Liberty Set in Boxwood and Rosewood and was the only known example that was waxed rather than lacquered. Needless to say, I got a response. They were curious as to why I did not want to sell the set. A collector might have paid several thousand dollars for the set, but selling it direct to a collector would have been difficult. The antiques dealers, I knew, would hem and haw about how generous a few hundred dollars for the set was, and then put it up for sale for five thousand dollars. I preferred to give the set away. Especially since the chess set was haunted. Yes, I wanted it out of my apartment as soon as possible.

Since I lived in northwestern Pennsylvania, Cleveland wasn't that far to drive. I made an appointment at the special collection by telephone and met a curator in the library. He already had a display place ready for the set and chessboard and the labels were ready, too. I was impressed with the security for the collection. Everything was behind locked glass panels. I felt good about this as a home both for the chess set and board and the two lost souls who seemed to go with them.

Every few years after I gave the chess set and chessboard away, I saw in the newspaper a human interest story about the "haunted" chess collection at the Cleveland Public Library. Library workers late at night just after closing kept reporting hearing the sounds of two chessplayers playing "blitz." The sound of two players banging on a chess clock every few seconds is unmistakeable to anyone who has ever entered a chess club. I couldn't help smiling when I saw these articles. My "Mr. Boxwood" and "Mr. Rosewood" had found in death the paradise that real life had denied them.

The End


End file.
